Sylvia longed to write Austin all about it, but she could not bring herself to spoil his trip by speaking slightingly, and perhaps unjustly, of his favorite sister's conduct. As she had rather feared, the short trip originally planned proved so instructive and delightful that it was lengthened, first by a few days and then by a fortnight, so that one week in August was already gone before he returned. He came back in holiday spirits, bubbling over with enthusiasm about his trip, full of new plans and arrangements. His enthusiasm was contagious, and he would talk of nothing and allow her to talk of nothing except themselves. "My, but it's good to be back! I don't see how I ever stayed away so long." "You didn't seem to have much difficulty--every time you wrote it was to say you'd be gone a little longer. I suppose some of those New York farmers have pretty daughters?" "You'd better be careful, or I'll box your ears! What mischief have _you_ been up to? I've heard rumors about some bookish chap, who read Keats's sonnets, and sighed at the moon. You see I'm informed. I'll take care how I leave you again." "You had better. I won't promise to wait for you so patiently next time." "Don't talk to me about patient waiting! Sylvia, is it really, honestly true I've only got three more weeks of it?" "It's really, honestly true. Good-night, darling, you _must_ go home." "And _you've_ only got three weeks more of being able to say that! I suppose I must obey--but remember, _you'll_ have to promise to obey pretty soon." "I'll be glad to. Austin--" "Yes, dear--Sylvia, I think your cheeks are softer than ever-- "I don't think Edith looks very well, do you?" "Why, I thought she never was so pretty! But now you speak of it she _does_ seem a little fagged--not fresh, the way you always are! Too much gadding, I'm afraid." "I'm afraid so. Couldn't you--?" "My dear girl, leave all that to Peter--I've got _my_ hands full, keeping _you_ in order. Sylvia, there's one thing this trip has convinced me we've got to have, right away, and that's more motors. We've got the land, we've got the buildings, and we've got the stock, but we simply must stop wasting time and grain on so many horses--it's terribly out of date, to say nothing else against it. We need a touring-car for the family, and a runabout for you and me,--do sell that great ark of yours, and get something you can learn to run yourself, and that won't use half the gasoline,--and a tractor to plough with, and a truck to take the cream to the creamery." "Well, I suppose you'll let me give these various things for Christmas presents, won't you? You're so awfully afraid that I'll contribute the least little bit to the success of the farm that I hardly dare ask. But I could bestow the tractor on Thomas, the truck on your father, and the touring-car on the girls, and certainly we'll need the runabout for all-day trips on Sundays--after the first of September."